RR

To Kill My Mother

maybe I should kill my mother.
to forget her thick hands
her fat laughing fingers
the stubborn ring that remains
even after the letters had been burnt.
to forget her voice in the morning
as she makes coffee
talks to the kitchen cupboard and the cat.
to forget the sound of her footsteps
as she gets up for a cigarette at 2 in the morning
eyes half-open and the body somnolent
dragging itself across our dark corridor.
maybe I should kill the cat.
I can imagine her looking for him in the streets at dawn
heavy knees bending, palms pressed to the asphalt
she will not find him under cars
or on our sooted rooftop
by the rising sun she’ll be mourning her feline child,
my mother is convinced he is her own
she will definitely go mad.
but I love her like this
obsessed, anxious, fixing the television.
buying too many oranges, cleaning the back of beds
sorting paper
waiting for my father
I hate her like that.

Contributor
Nourhane Kazak

Nourhane is the fiction reader at Rusted Radishes. She is on a journey of reconciliation; of bringing together the stubborn child, the restless witch and the wandering sage. She seeks writing that is unsettling, raw and slightly mad—always in search of the truth that would bring fiction to its knees.

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Nourhane is the fiction reader at Rusted Radishes. She is on a journey of reconciliation; of bringing together the stubborn child, the restless witch and the wandering sage. She seeks writing that is unsettling, raw and slightly mad—always in search of the truth that would bring fiction to its knees.

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